No such thing as blurred lines
by Narkito
Summary: It was the only conceivable sane option that could offer him a change of clothes, beer, and a dinner cooked to perfection with Danny besides him humming a tune of Bon Jovi's latest. The fact that they ended up making out on the couch with a hint of maybe something more, is only an added bonus. Except maybe not, not really, he's not sure.


The past seventy-two hours had been gruelling; the case of the week had the team running up and down the island under pouring rain in one of the worst storms Oahu had seen in a long time. When Steve thought about the past three days, only two words came to mind (with the fuzzy-edged focus of the exhausted), and that was _wet_ and _tired_. The fact that he had ended up back at Danny's for a change kinda boggled him a bit, but then again, a veritable wall of water had been blocking the view, rendering the streets too dangerous to attempt to drive in, especially considering the fact he was sleep deprived, sluggish, wet and oh, so-so-so _tired_.

The break had been a nice change of pace into the case, sorry, no, it had put a forceful _end_ to the case after dumbo-du-jour's car took a wrong turn, skidded past the jersey barriers, rolled over to the second set of barriers, broke through _those_ and then came to a harsh halt eighteen feet down on the side of the H1. It killed him instantly.

After something like that happened on a random Tuesday, putting a dash of the dramatic onto the two-month upcoming anniversary of his new-found relationship with his best friend, he kinda went with the flow, acknowledged that some things are (sadly) beyond his control and holed up in his boyfriend's house, because let's face it, it was the only conceivable sane option that could offer him a change of clothes, beer, and a dinner cooked to perfection with Danny besides him humming a tune of Bon Jovi's latest. The fact that they ended up making out on the couch with a hint of maybe something more, is only an added bonus.

The TV is but a soft glow in front of them, the dialogues of a documentary filling up the spaces between their breathing and kissing. Danny traces his lips down his neck and licks his way up straight to that spot behind his ear that drives him insane. Danny had found it early in the relationship and worshipped it with devotion every time he could. Steve on the other hand, has managed to sneak his hands under Danny's t-shirt and keeps scratching his back with a hint of nails against the grain of Danny's hair, which he had also discovered it drove Danny up the wall, but in a good way. This would be about the time they get a call about something or other, Steve thinks, calls that are often urgent, and once or twice have turned into conversations long enough to get a snack going and their things tidied up to go back to work. The crime on the island has honest-to-god peaked in the past two-months, like the criminal population has sensed them getting together and decided to act out. Steve is not absolutely sure just yet, but he's waiting on the statistics from city hall to confirm. When all his ears pick up is the heavy rain pelting the roof and windows, he gives himself a mental pat in the back and continues kissing Danny down his chest, stretching the t-shirt's collar as far as it will go without ruining it.

He's not sure where he's planning on taking this, but having Danny all but straddling him in a relatively tight, confined space overrides any other ideas or forethought he may have; he won't admit it aloud to a lot of people… actually no, scratch that, he won't admit it to anyone but Danny and only if under duress, but he's _unaccustomed_ to relationships in general, and to dude-on-dude relationships in particular –which becomes quite clear once he also admits to himself he can't really call them anything else in his head but 'dude-on-dude', which is horrible, he knows; a part of him is still scared that somewhere, someone can get a hold of evidence that he's anything but straight and end his career. Danny had joked once or twice about his apparent ingenuity about sex, saying he had only gotten by thanks to his good looks, and he's not right; but he's not wrong either. And so, he surprises himself when "wanna move this to your room?" goes past his lips in breathy sighs of pure delight that reverberate in Danny's ear, tingling all the way down to the V of his inner thighs.

Danny, on top of worshipping his sensitive spots, has been trying -with partial success- to unfasten Steve's belt, brushing the back of his hand against Steve's erection with almost every move, and thus it is no surprise at all that Danny ends up grabbing Steve by the collar, plants a toe-curling kiss to his lips and says, "yeah, babe, yeah. Come here." For a moment there, Steve's mind swims in an ocean of confusion and want, before he kicks himself into gear and remembers this is about moving the party to the bedroom, to an actual bed.

Danny scrambles to get his bearings too, pushing off the back of the couch to haul them up. Steve is thankful for the three-second reprieve to his senses, as it gives him the chance to focus his sight and appreciate Danny in all his ruffled glory. T-shirt askew and riding up on his belly. Sweatpants long and faded around the cuffs. Mismatched socks. Hair back into the sweet mess of loose curls that come from humidity and no product to smooth them back. _He looks so young_ , a distant part of him supplies.

He can't help but follow the bright light that is Danny and fall back into his lips, giving way to the shedding of the few clothes between them down to their boxers. By the time the back of his legs hit the bed he's not sure how they got there and barely has the time to catch up when Danny pushes him with both hands onto said bed. He sees the bedroom blur into rain and shards of glass flying as the car from a few hours ago rolls over four lanes on the highway, it's like a scene from a silent action film, he gives a firm shake to his head and the blurriness gives way to reveal Danny in the middle of his field of vision, still dishevelled and beautiful. He kicks himself mentally back into the task at hand, deciding once again to go with the flow and relax into it, hitting the mattress and throw pillows with a slight puff of air escaping his lips. As if on cue, the rain starts roaring outside, slapping the windows with renewed force.

"God, babe, you're so hot," says Danny, before he dives in. And that should be enough to snap him out of his reverie. "Of course you know you're hot. I know, I _know_. It's not like I just found out."

"Danny, you're babbling," he half laughs, half moans as Danny's chest comes into contact with his.

"Well, if there ever was a reason to babble..." Danny gestures down Steve's torso and they chuckle. Danny never gets tired of praising Steve for his body in a way that manages to warm Steve's heart. He has little time to dwell on that as Danny starts kissing him again.

Through the cotton layer of Danny's boxers, Steve can feel Danny's erection dragging against his stomach and then his thigh, bumping his own erection as he slides down his body, kissing and biting gently from chin, to neck, to left clavicle, to the taut muscle underneath. And as sensual as that feels, he's also aware of a cold shiver starting at the base of his spine, one he is trying hard to suppress by focusing solely on Danny's attention to his body. It feels a lot like shock settling in after the adrenaline high is over. He pushes past it and tries to enjoy the swirl of Danny's tongue on his navel and the pleasant hum it seems to elicit from them both. Steve fists the covers with both hands and concentrates on the trail of Danny's ministrations cooling on his skin; a buzzing sound filling his head. It isn't until Danny buries his nose into Steve's curls, slightly north of his dick, that he actually flinches. In his personal opinion, things start to go downhill from there.

It could be the pre-dinner drinks, or the post-dinner drinks, or the case they just (rather dramatically) closed, or that he hasn't done this in a while, but at some point between the bed and the couch, he doesn't want to have sex anymore. His body tenses against his will, preventing him from flinching again, which he considers a blessing. And Danny has to sense that something is wrong, because he withdraws from his sinuous path down the length of Steve's abs and sits back, careful not to crush Steve's knee under him, wiping the left corner of his mouth with his thumb, trying in vain to disguise the fact he's all hot and bothered, his chest rising and falling as he tries to control his breathing patterns.

"Okay, you're not into this, babe, what gives?"

"What?" Steve looks up at him, running a hand down his chest, using the wet trail Danny left as a guide. "No, everything's fine."

" _Babe_." Danny levels him with a glare that means to say, _stop_ and _spill_ all at once.

"No, Danny, look," Steve says as he slides up on the bed until he can sit up. "I'm fine. I just got distracted is all." Danny mirrors his posture and parks his butt down on the covers, letting his knee stretch until his foot is right besides Steve's hip, aborting a movement at the last second to grab Steve's calf and give it a rub.

"I know you're fine, Steve, you're more than fine." Danny says, wiggling his eyebrows. "If you catch my drift."

It rouses a smile out of him that in turn lights up Danny's face. "Yeah, you're not very subtle, Danno," says Steve, his smile growing wider.

Danny huffs out a laugh, leaning back on his hands. "No, I'm not, and neither are you, my friend, what's wrong? You uncomfortable?" Danny's words wipe the smile right off Steve's face.

"No." He shrugs a shoulder, making him look a bit like despondent teenager. "The bed is fine." Danny frowns.

"Geez, it's like pulling teeth with you, man. What I meant was if you were uncomfortable with the sexual aspects of it. You're resting your fine stubborn ass on the greatest bed a cop's comp can buy; I know the bed ain't the problem."

Steve crosses his arms over his chest, levelling him with a gravelly look. "What comp?"

"Wrong _subject_ , Steven." Danny's hands slice the air upwards and Steve distantly thinks it looks like a ' _what's up?_ ' to the sun in yoga-speak, which it figures, because if Danny ever did try yoga, his poses would come out all Jersey-attitude and very little relaxation. There's a pause and Steve's often perfect posture sags a little against the headboard.

"I suggested we moved this along, I'm fine."

"Yeah, you sure look so: arms crossed and a thousand-yard stare that convinces no one. You're a vivid picture of fine." Steve clears his throat and swallows, averting his eyes briefly to the side.

Danny deflates after that. He runs his hands through his hair, making a greater mess of it, and crawls on all fours to sit beside Steve, shoulder checking him once. Steve's all tense muscle and guarded looks, his defences quickly surmounting themselves one on top of the other.

"Okay, I doubt you need to be told this, and I know I'm not reading it wrong by saying you clearly don't want to take it further tonight— this afternoon, whatever. I don't know what's going on," he gives Steve a side glance before continuing, "so, just in case you are not aware, it's more than acceptable to start something, you know, make a move, and then realise halfway in that maybe you didn't want to after all." Steve covers his face with both hands and groans into them, although he wouldn't go as far as to describe it as embarrassment, more like annoyed resignation. _Annoyance_ being the operative concept behind the gesture.

"I know, Danny, I know, it's just—" and Steve's chest constricts itself around the intended explanation, because he doesn't have one. Or not one he can put into words; not now and who knows if ever.

"Okay, babe, you don't have to explain yourself." Danny runs a hand through his hair. "I thought maybe I did something, but you know what?" He points to himself. "I'm tired." He points to the general area of Steve's chest. "You're tired. And maybe life affirming sex after a clusterfuck of a case wasn't the best idea—"

"I know! Danny, you don't have to... I'm not a kid you need to coddle—"

"Whoa! Whoa! No, Steve, you're not a kid, and please don't ever compare yourself to one when we are in bed with a couple erections between us, geez!" Danny's cheeks turn bright red and he crosses his arms firmly over his chest. Steve's erection chooses that exact moment to start flagging and okay, maybe Danny has a point, several actually. He takes a shuddering breath and forces himself to calm down; he's running on fumes and so is Danny. He needs to regain control of the situation and all his senses are hinting towards sleep as a main facilitator, so he decides to take the lights-out route.

"You know what, I'm too tired to talk, I'm too tired to think right now, so why don't we just... go to sleep and forget this ever happened?" Steve points between the two of them with a face aching to discomfort and something unfurls inside Danny's chest and his entire posture softens around the edges in response.

"Yeah, babe, let's do that. Let's get some rest and see what the morning brings." He gives him a gentle smile and adds, "Which side of the bed you want?" And that, right there, is as much a surprise as it isn't, because of course Danny wouldn't kick him out of his bed, much less out of his house after a mishap like the one they just had, but he also realises he was gearing up to pick up his clothes and high-tail it out of there, weather conditions be damned. He was _expecting_ to be kicked out. And that's a sobering thought he's going to analyse much, much later in life, preferably in his next one.

Danny's movements are slow and tired as he arranges the covers around them before getting up and stepping out of the bedroom. He goes around the house flicking the lights and TV off. Steve can hear him lock the front door and run the tap water in the kitchen. He re-enters the bedroom in a flurry of domesticity, his t-shirt back on and a glass of water in hand. Steve blinks owlishly at him.

"Steve, babe, you're thinking too much," he says, as he leaves the glass of water on the bedside table and crawls into Steve's personal space to caress his face. "Let's just get some shuteye." He says into his hair, and then drops a peck on Steve's temple. "Let's sleep for eighteen hours straight and wake up really late tomorrow." He drops another kiss on his shoulder, on his way to slide in between the covers until his face rests on a pillow, from where he adds, "which for me means at least after nine, mind you, not the butt crack of dawn, no beach in here, no insane swimming schedule to uphold, _capisce?_ " And Steve doesn't know how Danny does it, how he manages to sooth him from the core out. Steve gets comfortable under the covers, turning his face into Danny's line of sight.

"Yes, Danno," he whispers. Danny opens his arms and snuggles him close to his heart.

"Yeah, nothing but lazing around," he mumbles in response, already losing the battle against sleep.

* * *

 **NOTES:**

This was written after a friend and I had a long talk about consent. Thank you for reading. Hope you enjoyed it.


End file.
